The morning started early for me. I was rudely awakened by the bleating of my alarm. “Wake up!” “wake up!” it screeched at me. As my eyes began to slowly focus in the dim heavy cloak of darkness the first thought that filtered through my sleepy mind was a question ‘what was it like for my great grandfather on this day 90 years ago?’ He would have been surrounded by his mates knowing they were going to die, that some of them wouldn’t make it. Gallipoli has become a place that more and more New Zealanders are becoming aware of. It is a place of great tragedy and sorrow, courage and comrademanship.

I pulled myself from the cosy nest and got my self and my son Louis organised for the Dawn ceremony. "Warm clothes" I said," it will be cold!" We quietly dressed and drove to pick up Waiora and Pakari. The sky was filled with stars and the road was quiet and still. As we drove into Motueka more and more cars started to join the procession into the centre of town. We parked and continued our journey on foot. Outside Placemakers other whanau and Parklands students and teachers gathered. Whaea Sue, Mr T and Mr B, with his medals proudly pinned to his warm coat, Mrs Walker, parents and grandparents all milling around waiting for the signal to line up.

An organiser in shiny shoes and military uniform directed us to stand behind the Army cadets; we were jittery with cold and excitement. ‘Attention’ yelled an officer, we were off. The Highland band started the march down High St and turned right into Pah St to bring the parade to a stop in front of the cenotaph at memorial park. The air was frigid against our skin its dank tentacles started to penetrate my warm jacket. The ceremony began. There were speeches and prayers, hymns and poems and then the last post played on the bugle. We were warned but it still came as a shock when the rifles were shot. The dawns early light blanketed us in the memories of those incredible men and women who gave their lives for the freedom of all New Zealanders. The Anzacs who died horribly on Turkish soil, those who died in France and Egypt, The soldiers who died only a few years later in WW2 fighting for peace and freedom in countries on the other side of the world. It was not an adventure; it was pain, fear and grief.

ANZAC day is important for me in so many ways. It reminds me of all those people who were loved, and lost. It reminds me of my past and it reminds me of all I have due to the sacrifices that were made by a group of brave New Zealanders.